Return to Death
by Mr. Chump Time
Summary: Helga returns from a six year tour of duty with the CIA in Vietnam. Back home, her former friends utilize her "skills" to gain an advantage over each other. Until Helga wants out of the business. Rated MA.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"If you're going to do it," the man on the ground moaned, "make it quick," In serious pain, the man clutched the gunshot wound to his stomach, bleeding on the frozen ground of the pine woods. The sun hid behind white snow clouds, which mulled around the forest in a cold haze. Snow fell silent through the trees as three others stood around the dying man. One held a .45 Automatic in her left hand, waiting to deliver the coup de grace.

"Are you ready?" she asked him.

"Go ahead."

With the order, the young woman held up the automatic to the other's forehead. Yet somehow, she could not force her finger to fire. Her hand shook, and lowered the pistol again. "Are you alright?" one of the men behind asked her.

"Don't rush me," the young woman muttered, covering up the obvious fact that she never wanted to kill the man she aimed at.

"If you can't I can for you."

With that, the bullet cut through the silent air, shattering the peace of the dense woods. "I just didn't need you rushing me," she hissed. The three then departed to their car, leaving the body for any opportunistic creatures of the forest to take with them.

* * *

Four years had passed since she came home, yet the memories still remained in her mind. What the young woman had done were things no human was meant to do. So many lives she took. So many lives cut short. So many, she could not even count. Yet, somehow, it was all she knew how to do. And when she finally returned to her home, she could not leave the past overseas. Others came to know her, and utilize her certain skills gained to take advantage of their enemies. And to take advantage of her as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Overlooking his humble parish, Father Arnold bid a farewell to his flock after Sunday morning mass. Growing up on the east side of the city, he witnessed many friends grow distant and cold in a dark world. Father Arnold joined the seminary after a violent incursion in the Cambodian jungle, searching for his family's past. Combined with the notion that he could never go back, Arnold atoned for his past sins by dedicating his life to saving people, rather than killing more.

Arnold tended to include all walks of life in his ministry, no matter what ethnicity or race. In the troubling times they lived in, the last thing he wanted in his congregation was tension or hatred. This perspective created some minor inner-church conflict with some of the more closed in the hierarchy. Yet his congregation seemed to appreciate his open-mindedness and since attendance was always high, the higher ups let him continue his ministry.

On this particular Sunday, the good Father noticed one old friend whom had a bit of trouble on his mind. "Good morning, Gerald," Arnold said as he approached Gerald's car, "I can tell your mind is troubled."

Gerald leaned back on the hood of his Ford, "Oh, hey man. It's nothing, really."

"Are you sure it's nothing?" he leaned next to him, "You can't hide your conflict."

"Well," he looked around, "Could we do this in confessional?"

"No problem," Arnold took him in the church, leading Gerald to the confession booth, where they both blessed themselves before entering the little cabinet.

It would seem strange that Gerald would confess some of his deepest sins to a friend from childhood, yet it was not. Somehow, it made it almost easier. He trusted Arnold, like no one else in the entire city. "Forgive me, Reverend Father," Gerald began, "For I have sinned."

"The Lord forgives," Father Arnold reminded, "What is troubling you?"

"I've seen my fair share of crime in this city, and never thought of turning someone I knew in. But this time," he shuddered, "I saw a murder. And I did _nothing_."

Arnold sighed in concern, "Gerald, is your life in danger?"

"No. I was _there_. And I know who did the crime. Personally."

Father Arnold never took in names, no matter what. Yet, he did always try to incline people to do the right thing. Now, his long-time best friend, involved with a brutal murder.

"This guy, this little guy, he missed a payment. He was strung out on the junk, and he couldn't defend himself at all. We roughed him up in his apartment in Brooklyn. Then, we took him for a drive, down to the Pine Barrens. We met up with a hired gun, who would do the work to actually kill him. She took him off the road, deep into the trees. She made him kneel, then shot him square in the forehead. I know her, and I don't know what to do."

Aghast, Arnold sat back in his chair. Sure, petty thieving and slinging dope were common on the list of confessions. Murder. _Murder_ was an entirely different ball game. Clearly, Arnold would not turn in anyone, but he had to notify the authorities to set this straight.

"_We _know her."

Suddenly, her face flashed before his eyes. It was her, she was back. The rumors around the community were true; it had to be her who did it. Who else could it have been? "Remember to pray to our Lord for forgiveness," Arnold finally responded, "You know what the right thing to do is."

"That's the thing Arnold," Gerald leaned forward to emphasize the grave nature of his situation, "I _can't _do the right thing. She'll come after me."

"I understand, Gerald," he thought for a moment and then swallowed hard, "Somehow, I will help you get out of this."

"Promise?"

"I promise. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," The two blessed themselves, then departed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

With Johnny Cash on the radio, a group of three sped down the dirty streets of Downtown Manhattan. Puffing on a cigarette, Helga sighed, "So how much longer until we get there?"

"Not much," Gerald replied while he drove the Ford, "We just need to get downtown, and it's right there."

"You jackasses haven't told me anything on who we're rubbing out."

"You'll find out soon enough," the voice from the back seat commented dryly, "Just wait and see."

The further they drove, the more Helga gained doubt, "Y'know, I'm not feeling all that hot today," she faked, "Maybe we oughta do this some other time."

"We're already here," the dark figure in the back said, "You're a little out of time."

"You can't do this job without me, right?" she barked, "I'm not feeling it."

The man in the back seat fired back, "You're not getting paid to puss-out on us. You'll do your job, _that's final_," with that, Helga backed down. The three set foot in a dingy apartment in the dirty Bronx. The house belonged to no one in particular, it had been used as a cathouse for the past five years, and it showed. Moving up the floors, they encountered many half-naked women strung out along the staircase, begging for anything they could get. Ugly wallpaper peeled in the smoke filled hallway, and the entire building stank of stale urine and cheap whiskey. On the top floor, the three walked up to the final door, and Gerald broke it in.

The room reflected the horrid atmosphere of the apartment. Pink wallpaper accented the many holes in the wall from bullets and fists. A table sat near one of the windows, long boarded up. A dilapidated four-post bed stood in the middle, with two women who were currently shooting up heroin. Inside, sat a relaxed Eugene, puffing on a Camel. He shot up to attention and greeted the three, "My man!" He said kindly to their leader, "How've you been? Here to spend some time with one of the girls?"

"You know why we're here, Eugene," he nodded to Helga, who withdrew her .45.

Eugene's heart sank, and his complexion paled, "Hey, man. We don't need to do this, we can work something out, honest!"

"I think your luck just ran out, bud," he nodded again to Helga.

Walking up to Eugene, the desperate man kneeled to plead his life, "Oh, good God, Helga! You don't need to do this!"

She held up her automatic up to his forehead, as he sobbed on the ground. Women in the room never screamed or cried, they watched in simple awe.

"Oh, please! I can make a deal with you guys! Please!"

Her hands shook, perspiring violently. After a brief moment, she lowered her gun. "What the fuck are you doing?!" Their leader hissed, "I told you to _put a fucking bullet in his skull!_"

Turning to Gerald and their superior, she growled, "I'm not going to do it."

Aghast, the leader took a step back, "What the fuck are you talking about?" He had superiority over her, yet he always feared that this would happen. Helga was headstrong; she would only listen to orders for so long. Everyone who worked with her knew this. Now, she was taking what was due. "You-you," he stammered, "_You can't fucking do this!_"

Helga turned her body and raised the pistol to her superior, "I'm tired of listening to your shit. You're a shit-for-brains thug, and you'll never be anything else."

"I'm second in command around here! I outrank you! Don't think for a moment that we couldn't bring you down like that low-life kneeling in front of you!"

Helga pulled the hammer back , taking aim at his gut.

"Hey, hey!" he motioned to Gerald, "Back me up, man! I'm declaring you Caporegime, you outrank that cunt, back me the fuck up!"

Assessing the situation, Gerald stepped back away from the superior. He knew that if he backed up their boss, Helga would murder him in cold blood. With a wife and kids at home, he wasn't willing to do that.

"You can't fucking do this!" the superior screamed at Helga, "You can't…" and paused as Helga fired a slug into his intestines. Organ matter and blood splattered on everyone as the bullet tore his insides apart. Bleeding heavily, he staggered back to the wall, and slid down. Helga approached as he pulled his own firearm. Helga shot once more through his hand and into his stomach. He screamed in pain, lowering his hand with all his strength. "You'll never get away with this," he muttered as Helga towered over him.

"I don't give a fuck," she said coldly as she lifted her pistol to his forehead, "I'll take everyone down with me, Stinky. And I'll send you and all your fucks to Hell," she said as she pumped another bullet into his brain, ending Stinky's short and filthy life. In awe, the others stood back, in preparation for Helga's wrath. Yet, she didn't shoot anyone else. She holstered her pistol while approaching Gerald, whom she took the keys to his Galaxie, "Thanks for the car, man," she replied and smiled to Gerald. With that, she departed down the road, to prepare for another war.


End file.
